


goldfish in the sea

by queenofspades (enlightenight)



Series: Road to happiness is paved with sadness [Community] [3]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post S6, jeff and britta against the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6833554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enlightenight/pseuds/queenofspades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britta is bitter, and bitterness is good because pain usually takes you somewhere.<br/>Jeff is bitter, and that is good because he wants to get out of that comfort zone, in which he is left behind all alone.</p><p>In other words, Britta finds her steel, and stands against the world with Jeff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're just a lighthouse nobody can see

**Author's Note:**

> > Sorry about the formatting if it bothers you. AO3's formatting kills me in a bad way.
> 
> > The title comes from Until The Ribbon Breaks' Goldfish. The song originally goes like "you're just a goldfish / swimming in a bowl" but sea seemed more appropriate to me for some reason. 
> 
> > There are some minor, very minor House of Cards spoilers from various seasons. They won't affect how you watch the series, but warning is warning.
> 
> > This isn't exactly beta-ed, so please excuse the possible horrible grammar mistakes. 
> 
> > I'm sorry in advance that any confusions, jump cuts etc, because I haven't written Jeff/Britta in a long time and I just needed to get this out of my chest. Hope you like it.

Here’s how it starts for Jeff Winger: One night as he is casually hanging at his house, the once temporary but now permanent condo, he decides that it’s not working _well_ for him, _whatever this is._ Nothing seems to excite him anymore, and every single website he checks on tells him it’s probably depression — but who is he kidding? He works at _Greendale_ of all places, it’s that place’s effect.

The once invincible study group, whose members are all around the country — _and world,_ honestly —, busy with conquering _things,_ is just a Facebook and WhatsApp group now. Jeff muted them both, oh god, he couldn’t handle Annie and Shirley sending endless voice recordings instead of texts, and Abed having fun with emojis. He, himself, rarely comments on things here and there, and Troy is _never_ available — so who knows? Britta is really quiet, too, and Jeff guesses it’s because how many hours she works at that bar, trying to pay for everything. 

 _“You should totally get help from your parents,”_ he insists one day, over text. Texting her seems like the only good change in his life, honestly. _“They would love to do that._ ”

Britta responds with a long chunk of text that basically says _no,_ and Jeff doesn’t push her any more — because he _knows_ how painful it can be; swallowing all the pride and returning back to the one place from which the escape was quite hard.

 _“How do you pay your rent though?”_ This doesn’t count as pushing her, he assures himself. This is a genuine concern that one friend has about another. _“Now that both Abed and Annie gone?”_

She doesn’t respond to that, nothing other than a quickly typed _“Gotta go — have an exam”_ and Jeff sighs, wishing her luck and turning his notifications off.

_It’s not working well for him._

He taps his fingers on the coffee table — one that Chang ruined, and he still couldn’t bring himself replacing (not because he is sentimental, mind you, but because he is quite sure he can’t afford a trip to Ikea right now). The table makes the rhythmical thudding noises along with the tapping.

Stopping for a second, in the dark living room, he stares at the _still_ unpacked small boxes. He promised himself once that he would _never_ unpack any of the boxes, other than the absolute necessities, so _he wouldn’t have to repack them._ Now getting back to his old life seems very impossible.

 _“On the other hand,”_ a voice in his mind argues with probably Abed’s voice. _“Seven years ago, enrolling in a community college, having a study group there, and saving the school would seem impossible as well.”_

And those all happened.

Almost frantically, he reaches for his laptop and types the two magical keywords in a search engine, which is totally _not_ Google, and hopes deep down that _magic_ is real, because after working at a shitty community college, he’ll need magic if he wants a good job.

As a lawyer, this time. No matter how unethical the job asks him to be.

 

*****

So this is how Britta Perry says _fuck it_ : Greendale is a shit hole that she should’ve gotten out of ages ago. There are hundreds of community colleges, after all, and at least none of them other than this _stupid, stupid_ place gave a degree _to a fucking dog._

She can’t deny that the school is going _better,_ now that Frankie basically runs the whole show. At least she can get the classes she actually needs, with _relatively_ good teachers who are not drinking in the teacher’s lounge and making them watch documentaries the entire day.

 _“Just a few more months,”_ she says, as her fingers move over the keyboard as fast as they could. _“Then I’ll get the credits I need, and then I’ll get the fuck out of here.”_

She _hates_ her life, for the lack of a better word. She loathes it. She wants to go away, and start fresh. Somewhere that _nobody_ knows her as the person who _britta_ s stuff. She won’t be friends with _anyone,_ no matter what: Because that’s friends to do you at the end of the day. Accusing you of ruining everything while crushing your hopes and dreams.

Her phone beeps with a text message from her landlord, telling her to _pay the rent as soon as possible,_ and Britta stops writing her essay. It’s a blissful silence, there isn’t any tv blasting from her back with weird movies, or Annie dictating her stupid rules about stupid things. But the phone beeps again, with a text that _reminds_ her how much she owes the landlord as of now, and that’s it for her. She’s out of here.

Thank god, _ewww,_ though, she remembers to check her balance this time. $200 wouldn’t get her anywhere, and she isn’t in high school anymore. Times aren’t as easy as she dropped out to impress Radiohead, whose newest album is super impressive by the way, but maybe like Radiohead she can make a comeback.

She grabs her phone, and ignores the ones from the landlord. No. She goes to _recents,_ selects Jeff’s name, and prays to any listening deities for this not to end in a disaster.

_“Gonna move out of here. Can I move in with you temporarily?”_

The moment she presses _send,_ she knows the answer will be a no — possibly in emoji or whatever the fuck that is form.

_“I was going to suggest you the same thing.”_

Britta stares at her phone, as if it betrayed her, and she taps on the screen with the knuckle of her finger a few times. Making sure she _isn’t_ high, she tries not to hyperventilate.

 _“Have a job offer for you.”_ Jeff writes. _“We should totally talk tomorrow._ ”

 _“Shirley’s Sandwiches?”_ She asks, frowning. _“After I get out of my exam?”_

 _“Deal._ ”

 

*****

Honestly, he can’t believe why he never thought of this before. Sure, he _did_ think of this, but it was on the day he imagined himself with Annie Edison and a child from her — _damn what the fuck was wrong with him and these delusions where he kept imagining himself with her? —_ so ignoring it, was easy then. Now, he feels enlightened.

Her arms wrapped around thick books, and her hair in a ponytail, Britta walks to him. She has this weird vibe on her, and Jeff is almost certain it is not something new — it’s only him noticing _now._

“What’s your deal?”

He almost, _almost_ replies back with a _“That’s not small talk?”_ to make a callback, as Abed would call it, but he stops himself.

“You technically graduated, right?” He asks, one of his eyebrows raised as usual. “If you want, you could just drop the classes you want right now and get your diploma?”

“Yeah, why?”

Jeff takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you start as a counsellor at Greendale?”

Britta startles, it’s as if someone has pulled the entire world beneath her feet. _“What?”_ She manages to get out of her chest.

“It makes sense,” he shrugs. “You can get a steady job, insurance, and also experience. At least it’s not dealing with bunch of drunk people every single night while you’re trying to get through the few extra credits you need. Hours are normal, nobody would bat an eye if you went to classes… It just makes perfect sense.”

“Makes sense,” she repeats, her eyes are almost blank. _Her? As a counsellor?_ “Don’t you think I’ll britta it, though?” She sounds bitter, _so_ bitter that Jeff’s mouth flatten.

“We gave you hell, right?” He admits.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” she approves.

It’s an awkward silence between them, one that they haven’t had in a long time.

“I can’t change the past…” He says, and then stops. “And no,” the emphasis on the word _no_ makes Britta smile, so he continues. “I don’t think you’ll _ruin_ it. Even if you do, this is Greendale. People here survived an insane dictator, after all.”

Britta laughs at this, because oh yeah, they _survived_ an evil dictator… Seven of them were there to stand up against the guy, and they beat him. Now, it’s just two of them — left behind.

“Those were the fun days,” she sighs. “And now, we’re just…”

“Fucked up,” Jeff completes her sentence. “Yes. But what makes you think that we can’t fix it?”

He has this weird light in his eyes, and that worries her for some reason. It’s as if an inspirational music will blast through the speakers any minute now, and Jeff will give one of his impressive Winger Speeches. The music doesn’t play though.

“Come on,” he insists, instead of building an entrance to a speech. “You know I’m right. We were ready to move on when Subway tried to take over this shit hole. Then we fell right back to our comfort zone — and everybody else who went all crazy when we said it’s done, left before we could.”

She tried to laugh it off. “You’re not proposing to me again, are you?” She was uncomfortable with this. She remembers how much she hated when he went right back at making doe eyes at Annie. “Because if I’m not mistaken, that would be the _fifth_ time.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not proposing. But other than that, I’m dead serious and right — and you know it.”

Britta knows he is right, damn, Winger is _rarely_ wrong — she usually follows this fact with a wish for him to be _wrong,_ but not this time. This time, it will be her ultimate comeback. It will be _their_ ultimate comeback, and deep down she _knows_ she wants it _despite_ others in the group.

Because, you know, spending a year with her now-absent-friends trying to guess what Britta is _ruining_ at that moment in the mutual groups is stressing. She laughs it off at the beginning, but it comes up so often that she is annoyed.

 _She saw the world,_ they didn’t. _They weren’t there_ when she was too busy with fighting her demons.

She knows this will be her comeback, and on that day, she will yell _in your face_ while downing a bottle of expensive champagne like the douche she always tried to avoid becoming.

“One year,” Britta finally says, looking at Jeff’s eyes. “One year, I’m going to save money, finish my extra credits, force Pelton if I have to for a good reference and then I’m out of this school.”

“Good,” he nods. “That’s my plan as well.”

They shake hands, and it feels like their second year all over again: Them against rest of the group.

 

*****

Jeff gets a good job two weeks after their deal.

It’s at best a degrading interview, but he manages to keep his cool. His abilities may be rusted, but he isn’t dead yet — and Jeff Winger can bet his life that even his dead corpse could win over everyone. The research he made before going there totally paid off, he admits that to Britta over their shitty coffees, in _her_ office.

“The guy remembered who I was,” he flaunts, with a smile.

“Along with you getting disbarred?”

Jeff pauses for a second, and then nods. “Along with that, yes,” he says. “But who cares? I beat him in countless cases, at best he’s jealous.”

It’s not a corner office, and it’s not like he _needs_ a shiny office for now. Anything is better than Greendale. _Anything._

“What will you be doing now?” Britta asked, skimming through her notes. He knows she barely listens to him, but that’s okay. She feels like the Britta from six years ago, and that is also fine. They need to see their bullshit anyway, _that_ ’s how can they move forward.

“Similar to what I used to do,” Jeff replies. “Saving rich people from minor problems. At least, on surface. I want to build a portfolio of my own. I’m gonna camp in the house for a few days and find out about offshore banking.”

 _This_ gets her attention. “Tax evasion?” She asks. “Not cool — even for you.”

“I want my old condo back, kitten,” he scoffs. “I want the luxury, good wine, a good sports car.”

She rolls her eyes. “Tell me when you get those,” she sounds distracted, reaching to her notebook with a victorious smile. “So I can find a good house for myself. One that I can afford.”

He sips his coffee slowly. “Who says you have to live anywhere else? That house was big enough for five people.”

Over her glasses, Britta looks at him. “You didn’t live in a mansion, Winger. Tone it down a notch.”

“We share a studio, remember?” He reminds her, and chuckles when he sees her deathly glares. “What? I want to expose you to luxury.”

“Trust me, Netflix subscription is luxury enough for me.”

Living with Jeff Winger is easier than she expected, actually. He is _extra_ careful about what he eats, and because of the whole never-ending cholesterol craze, he still avoids meat; so Britta can eat her vegetables in peace, and they usually share it.

They have a pizza, and a Chinese food night. In both, they walk home, leave all the work aside, and turn on Netflix to binge on some shows. Britta’s favourite, to Jeff’s surprise, is House of Cards. Of course, he watched all four seasons — but it’s fun watching with her again.

“She is vile,” Britta said one time, as they were watching Claire Underwood threatening a woman calmly. “And I think I love it.”

“She’s _scary,”_ he replied, he couldn’t even blink.

“Oh,” she nudged him with her elbow. “What is it? Are you scared of seeing a woman taking no shits?”

“She literally threatened a woman with killing her unborn child!”

Britta shrugged. “And her husband killed a dog in the first minute of the first episode. They’re sociopaths, what’s your point?”

He had to agree, but still that didn’t stop him question her. “You literally like a politician who cheats, lies and, in this case, kills to get what she wants.”

She shrugged again. “I’m a sell out. I decided to sell out the moment those old _friends_ made fun of me in that theatre, two years ago.”

He smiled approvingly. “You’re _finding your steel_ ,” he said. “I like it.”

 

*****

Working at Greendale is easy, actually. She even enrolled some Coursera classes with certificates which she assumed would be more valuable than a degree from Greendale. There are students coming and going, with distressed faces, telling her about their fear from future, fear from school, and problems. She helps them all.

“Thank you Miss Perry,” one of the newly enrolled student says, with a smile that enlightens his face.

“You’re welcome Dennis,” she replies, taking a note of talking to Leonard about his pranks. 

She then turns to her computer, and watches the lecturer from a prestigious European university continue to talk, taking pages over pages of notes. Her phone rings at twelve, and it’s Jeff, inviting her to a lunch at the mall.

“I’m not sure,” she says. Spending money on something as trivial as lunch seems like an unaffordable expense to her, now that she is actually concerned with paying her debts and trying to save money.

“It’s on me?” Jeff offers.

“That doesn’t make it better,” she states.

She hears him curse himself, and laughs to herself. Somethings _never_ change, and it’s something she enjoys — which happens really rarely.

“If I was a woman, would you let me pay for your lunch?”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It shouldn’t be now, as well. We’re friends. I’m taking my friend on a lunch with my newest paycheque.”

She pauses. “So it’s a celebration?”

“Yes.”

“Then fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Don’t bother,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”

Britta sighs, and tells him to wait for a while. Seven years younger Britta would flip over this, saying how disrespectful it is for him to virtually give her no choice as if she doesn’t have an autonomy.

35-years-old Britta gets that it’s not about not having an autonomy. She knows he wouldn’t insist if she told him that she wasn’t going to come.

_(To be fair, younger Britta wouldn’t live with Jeff Winger, as well.)_

_(To be fair to younger Britta, younger Jeff was a fucking jerk.)_

The ride to mall is quiet in his old, but comfortable Lexus. As they get off the car, and walk to the mall, she frowns.

“I should sell my car,” she says.

He doesn’t interrupt her, because she sounds like she’s talking to _herself_ more than him. But when she looks at him with a question in his eyes, he nods approvingly.

“It would save you from taxes, and even though I can’t think anyone paying too much money to that crap, it could help you paying your debts.”

“I should put it on eBay or something,” she trails off. “I’ll work out something.”

They walk into a cafe at the mall, and look at the menus for a while. She orders a salad, he orders a burger, and they stare at their phones.

“I told the group that you started working at Greendale,” Jeff reveals, after two minutes.

“Oh,” Britta says, looking uninterested. Her heart, on the other hand, starts beating in her throat. “What did they say?”

“Shirley and Annie said they are so happy, but you can be sure they started gossiping about us working in the same place.”

“Haven’t you told them about your new job?”

“I’ll one day.”

“I see. What about Abed?”

“He said something about it would be a lame seventh season, with most of the original cast gone.”

Britta raises her head. “What did you say?” 

He knows why she doesn't want to check it herself, so he replies: “I told him half of the seasons with the full cast weren’t exactly awesome either.”

She starts giggling. “Shirley and Annie will hate you for that.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “They’ll be okay.” He pauses for a while. “Apparently your former land lord told them about you moving from the apartment.”

“Give me a break,” Britta throws her head back. “Did you tell them?”

“I didn’t think it was my place to answer,” he replies casually. “You’re eventually read the messages in that group, Britta. Remember. _Find your steel._ ”

 _Finding her steel._ She prepares herself for the worst as she types _“Hey guys”_ and sends, and an avalanche of messages make the phone buzz. She catches the _“Where do you live now?”_ question from Annie, and Britta just _knows_ that she is trying to confirm her suspicions. 

“ _I’m Jeff’s roommate,”_ she types, and sends. She knows Jeff is reading the messages, as well, and she doesn’t have to look at him to know he grins. _“At least until we make other arrangements.”_

“ _Don’t tell me you’re having sex again,”_ Shirley writes. _“Living in the same apartment, working in the same place???????????”_ The number of question marks nauseates Britta, given some of them are also _emojis_.

 _“Returning to old habits makes a very boring story,”_ Abed adds. _“Something lazy writers do, when they can’t invent anything new.”_

They breathe deeply, at the same time, and Jeff’s fingers are faster to type a good, appropriate response to that inappropriate question — and for a second Britta wishes she could _ruin_ them all. Her phone buzzes to interrupt her vengeance filled fantasies, and she reads Jeff’s response:

 _“First of all: None of your business. Why do you care if we have sex? There is no study group to ruin anymore. And secondly, I no longer work at Greendale._ ”

There’s radio silence from the three of them, and Britta bites her lip as she types as well.

_“Congrats for being such supportive friends. Like you always have been for the last six years.”_

Jeff looks at her over his phone, one eyebrow raised as always.

“What?” She says, her voice is not bitter this time, it’s venomous. “They had it coming.”

“I know, and I like it,” he sounds so calm. “But I want to know if you’re comfortable with the person you’re turning into.”

She startles, and tries to collect her thoughts as the waitress bring their orders. Britta Perry knows what he means, and it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. Oh, she spent sleepless nights thinking about it. She knows she becomes more focused, _focused on living despite,_ and she feels like she’ll see a different face in the mirror.

And she doesn’t feel sorry for it.

“Spending nearly six years being the butt of the joke, Jeff,” she says, stabbing the caesar salad with her fork like she is Brutus. “I finally decided to get my revenge by being successful at what I always wanted to do.”

“I understand.”

“And the more I think about it, the more careless I become. I used to think about all the embarrassing things I did before I slept, and now I think about the every single time someone has broken my soul. Including you. But you made it up to me.”

She thinks about the time Annie told her she didn’t respond to anything appropriately. She thinks about the time which everybody were up in arms about her sleeping with Jeff. She thinks about the every single time her _friends_ called her _the worst,_ and she swears herself that she is not going to be the worst again.

Even if it means she has to change.

No more trying to smile while her _friends_ make fun of her, oh, no. Those days are over. 

Before deciding all these, Britta Perry thought about running away.

Now, Britta Perry lives _despite_ of those who told to her face that she couldn’t be anything.

Later in that afternoon, Britta Perry kisses Jeff Winger _despite_ what people say about them being together.

Later in that day, they have the most mind-blowing sex they had in a while, and Britta feels ready to burn the bridges as she looks at Jeff, coldly.

“We should take a picture and send them, honestly,” she says.

“Not yet,” he chuckles. “Not yet, kitten. We will do that at our peak.”

For some reason, she doesn’t ask him _what_ makes him think that they will see each other after reaching their goals.

 

*****

Before summer, they’re _almost there_.

They’re both debt free, and they even managed to save some money. Jeff doesn’t hesitate to use his newly constructed connections to find a good financial manager to help them with investments so they can have a reliable source of income in case they lose their jobs. It starts with a small amount, for both of them, but every month they’re getting closer to their dreams.

Britta studies hard for GRE, with her diploma at hand. She no longer pays tuition to Greendale, benefits of graduating, so now she divides her money between rent and the savings account.

With this newly found rich, she wants to make all kinds of shopping — for example she considers replacing her laptop, which looks really old next to Jeff’s state-of-the-art new MacBook, but then she remembers the master’s degree she wants to obtain, and she stops.

She can get one when she gets accepted to a good programme. 

Jeff is on his computer all day, preparing contracts, sending e-mails and talking to people over the phone. Building his own portfolio plan seems to have worked, and he thanks his lucky stars and his skills for that.

After eight pm, they just leave everything aside and watch television — or just stare blankly at it. Britta either has the exam, or one of students in her mind. Jeff probably tries to solve a case. In the end, he wraps his arm around her, she puts her head on his chest; and they watch some old cartoon, and fall asleep there. 

Their routine is nothing romantic, they both agree on it. _Nothing romantic,_ because they can’t let anything to disrupt their alliance. _Them against the world._ It’s all about _living despite of everyone_ and earning the places they actually deserve — just a couple of years later.

Just five years ago, in _the secret sex_ year, they tried their best to avoid all kinds of routines — it was all thrilling, but emotionless for them. Or it wasn’t, but they tried to keep it that way. Now, they accept the fact that getting _closer_ — either physically or mentally — is inevitable. They don’t want to avoid it, anyway.

He was thirty six, and she was twenty nine back then.

The possibilities seemed limited. 

But now? Them against the world?

Jeff looks at Britta, who yawns and closes her eyes, muttering something about she’ll rest her eyes for five minutes; and believes once again that they can, _and they will_ , beat everyone.

 

*****

Here’s how Britta tells her biggest secret to Jeff: They’re in the mall, again, mostly because they need to buy some groceries, but they feel overwhelmed with work and study and the general monotone routine they have. It’s a change of scenery for them, and besides Jeff is already complaining about he needs to find new organic hair products, and Britta needs to renew her cat food supply.

“Putting your cat on a diet sounds pretentious,” Jeff says as they go through the aisles.

“It’s not pretentious after he gains tons of weight and it affects him bad,” she cuts him off, trying to spot the right brand. “Here it is. Now, what’s next?” 

Someone taps on her shoulder, rather gently, and she lets the biggest scream when she turns and sees who — _or what —_ did it. Everyone, _everyone,_ looks at them — _her,_ specifically, for screaming at a underpaid teenager in a dinosaur costume with brochures for some campaign in hands. Her cheeks flush, the ugly redness builds towards them from her throat, and she just turns her head away. Staring at cat food seems a lot easier right now, even easier than a half hearted apology — she can’t exactly help feeling like even the cat photos on the packages are judging her.

“Do you want to say something or will staring at us longer magically make us understand you?” For a second she thinks Jeff is talking to her, but then a _“Sorry!”_ is squealed — which makes her feel even _worse,_ if that’s even possible. 

“Britta, look at me,” he sounds worried now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replies, trying to laugh. Her voice is so high pitched that he rolls his eyes, but she insists. “It’s fine. I just… It was-“

“You were like a banshee, kitten,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “And I can imagine it’s not because how bad his working conditions are.” 

She is shaking, cheeks still red. Tears are there, waiting for their cue to roll down, so she blinks for a few times, too fast, to make them go away.

“Can we _leave?”_ It’s a whisper, and she hates herself for it. “I don’t want to-“

“Sure.” He tries to sound casual. “We can come back later if we want.”

A few security guards run into them as they unload everything, ask them if everything is okay, probably standard procedure, but the low-key blaming tones of the guys’ voices is so unbearable, she just clenches her jaw and looks away. _It will be over,_ she consoles herself, muttering under her breath. _We’ll leave and it’ll be okay._ She doesn’t even listen what Jeff says to make them go away, it’ll work anyway.

The walk back to the car is a blur. Being annoyingly chivalrous, Jeff puts his jacket on her shoulders, and even though she feels like she could get lost in it, she doesn’t argue. It’s relaxing, in a sense, a familiar scent at least. She can judge him for a gazillion things, but _damn_ his perfume smells so comforting.

He doesn’t start the car once they’re in it, and he doesn’t speak either. They sit there, surrounded by a weird silence, both of them waiting for each other to break it 

“So?” Jeff finally asked, trying his best not to sound harsh, or sarcastic.

“I was caught unguarded,” she defended herself, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s not important-“

“Britta,” he puts his hand on her knee, gently, and looks directly into her eyes. “You can tell me.” 

She _wants_ to tell him.

She _wants_ to tell him.

_She wants to tell him more than anything._

“You wouldn’t believe it,” she laughs, between tears — _damn she is crying, she is crying, damn it._ “Nevermind. It’s really not important—“

“I would believe you,” he says, and Britta shakes her head. _Nobody did._ Nobody did believe her. Nobody ever does.

“I assume it involved a guy in a dinosaur costume,” he suggests. “Whatever it was.”

It’s silent.

It’s so much silent that she can hear his wrist watch’s ticking, and it irritates her.

“I was eleven,” she sighs, given up. “I was eleven, it was my birthday, and _nobody believed me,_ okay?”

It’s _not_ okay, and Jeff now wants to punch something until his knuckles bleed.

 

***** 

They have an incredibly _Jeff-and-Britta_ night, together: Not talking about emotions, _any of them._ Acting like Britta’s _minor_ breakdown in the car never happened, or they never even went to mall that day. It’s bottles and bottles of booze, silly drinking games that end with them drinking themselves silly.

Then kissing each other.

Then Britta starts crying her lungs out, screaming her _hate_ because _nobody believed her_ and she watched that piece of shit walk out of that restaurant with a shit-eating grin on his face, and she was _grounded_ for making up accusations. _She hates her parents,_ there, she says it. She hates them with a burning passion.

“And you,” she slurs, pointing her finger at Jeff. “You went ahead and bonded with them! _Behind my back!”_

He freezes, feeling like someone just poured a bucket of ice water over his head. He mutters something along the lines of _sorry,_ but Jeff Winger of all people knows it that _sorry_ never cuts it. It has never cut it. William Winger said _sorry_ for leaving him when he was just a child, and it sure as hell didn’t make everything suddenly better.

“I didn’t know,” he stutters. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” she lowers her head, sniffling.

“And I feel bad.”

“I know that too,” she laughs between all the tears, and it’s like their first year at Greendale all over again. He looks at her in an awe, as if he sees her for the first time in his life — or as if he looks at a jig saw puzzle from above. Complete. Satisfied.

“Come here kitten,” he pulls her in a hug, and inhales her scent. “I’ll never disappoint you again.”

She sniffs lightly, and he hears her muttering:

“I wish I could believe that, Winger.”

Britta sounds so vulnerable, it hurts.

“Let me fix this,” he says, with a cheer so fake that Britta barely stops herself from calling him on that. “You tell me how to make it up to you, for all the jerk things I’ve done, and I’ll do my very best to do what it is you want from me.”

“I don’t need you to make it up for anything,” she murmurs. “The last couple of months were quite enough.” Raising her head, she looks at him. “Can we go to sleep? It’s been a long day.”

When they end up in bed, covered by Jeff’s expensive, silk sheets, Jeff takes a few deep breaths and speaks:

“You know, I actually wanted to die.”

“When?” Britta asks, sleepily.

“Two years ago. With the whole birthday thing.” 

He hears her breaths getting faster, but she speaks with the same sleepy tone:

“What made you stop?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “The group? You? That drug induced hallucination is not one of my fondest memories.”

She exhales softly, and puts her hand over his. “We’ll be fine,” she assures him. “We always bounce back.”

“We always do,” he repeats, turning to look at her face in the dimly lit bedroom.

It’s the first time they sleep _entwined_ while fully clothed, and they both know that it won’t be last.

 


	2. good luck, and godspeed

_two years after that_

 

The reunion is Frankie’s idea, and that’s the _only_ reason Jeff and Britta agreed to go there. Britta can imagine the group’s reaction being _not too welcoming,_ and Jeff’s argument is _when they ever are welcoming,_ and she has to agree.

See, she _still_ finds herself thinking about the moments where she was called _the worst,_ where she was made a joke, and how her _friends_ borderline abused her. Reading tons of books and articles about abuse, and peer pressure — not to mention _writing a thesis on it —_ certainly didn’t help. 

But at least, now she has a master’s degree in hand. And an office, furnished rather luxurious and comfortable. She is still an activist, working for organisations that try to help children — it’s better than basic vandalism, she says. At least her skills are good for something.

“Are you ready?” Jeff asks, his perfume tickles her nose even from afar.

“A second,” she replies, as she puts her earrings on.

That’s a lie, though, because she takes a few more seconds to admire her look in the mirror. She wears a suit, which looks totally better than Jeff’s by the way, and heels to complete them — and it makes her feel more _accomplished._

“Wow,” Jeff comes into the room, looking at her from top to bottom. “They’ll be so surprised.”

“I hope so,” she says, one eyebrow raised. “Shall we?”

They hold each other’s hands, and walk out of their luxurious condo to their car waiting outside, as the sun makes the ring on their left ring fingers shine.


	3. see the picture, can't connect the sound

Britta stared at the thin plastic, she was trying to melt it with her gaze.  _Just give the goddamn result,_ she wanted to yell at it.  _Let’s be done with it._

To be completely fair, she didn’t know what she expected – positive, or negative? 

Her logical part was a bit skeptical. She was over her thirty-five now, and a child would bring so many new variables to her newly stabilised life. Besides, it seemed selfish to bring a child to a world where everything and everyone was crazy.

But that didn’t stop her heart skipping a beat when she imagined the possible cute face of a baby, smiling at her. That didn’t stop her imagining how different life would be with uncertainty, and enjoying that. After planning every single step of her last few years, maybe it was time to learn how to make plans under uncertainty.

She saw the second line, and leaned back. Her heart stopped, or she felt like it did. 

It was real now. Not a possibility, not a dream. And damn, she wanted it. 

She wanted it more than everything. 

Slowly, Britta got up and unlocked the toilet door. Seeing Jeff sitting on the floor, his back on the wall surprised her a bit,  _just a bit,_ but when he raised his head with a question in his eyes, she nodded. 

“Positive,” she said, her throat dried suddenly. That was the one thing she never thought of, she now noticed. Jeff’s reaction. “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“No.”

“Do you want it?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I do. You?”

He didn’t say anything. Getting up, and towering over her as he usually did, his lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. 

“Yes,” he whispered, and then she realised he was as anxious as she was. “I don’t know how we’ll do it, but I know we will, and I want it.”

They kissed each other, and hugged, and it was a promise – a promise that they never had to say out loud, but knew deep down that they could never break: They got each other’s back, in everything that future could throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >> short chapter because i wrote it on tumblr & it was a companion piece to this fic.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments are always welcomed!


End file.
